


His Touch and My Demons

by rocket_dreaming3D



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, Explicit Sexual Content, Heavy Angst, M/M, Physical Abuse, Romance, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-27
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-01-17 03:36:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1372441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocket_dreaming3D/pseuds/rocket_dreaming3D
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Till finds out that Richard has been sleeping with his wife and an unexpected pregnancy he snaps. Richard wanted the singer's attention and affection. What he got wasn't quite what he had planned on. Paul does his best, comforting Richard and piecing him together time after time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note the tag for emotional and sexual abuse. For the purpose of this fic I have written the group of Rammstein living in a house together. Be warned that this chapter does contain content that is very sensitive (depictions of semi non-consensual sex). Trigger warning for mental break down/anxiety attacks.

“You slept with my wife?!” Till was in a rage, which would have been terrifying to any sane, rational human being. 

Richard was neither of these things. The diva guitarist was actually enthralled that he had finally caught the signer’s attention, barely concealing the elation that rushed through his veins as he watched the larger man’s face turn a nearly ultra-violet shade of red. 

“You betrayed me!” 

“Well it’s not like you were fucking her!” Richard snarled in response, hiding all traces of his true emotions from his voice. “Someone had to do it, man, it was just sad watching such a beautiful piece of ass go un-fucked.”  
“You got her pregnant, you insufferable prick!” 

“That’s the only fucking reason you’re mad,” Richard spat, rolling his eyes, arms crossed as he slouched fearlessly in his chair, guitar held lazily in his hands as he gazed defiantly upwards. “It’s not hard to see that you don’t give a shit about her anymore, the whole band knows it.” 

Till looked like he was going to burst, several veins sticking out in his neck and on his arms as his fists clenched and unclenched, teeth gritting as he seethed down at the smaller man. The apparent lack of intimidation in the smaller man’s eyes was infuriating to say the least. His breathing deep and uneven he slowly tried to calm down, piecing together individual thoughts slowly as he cooled down. Something in the languid way Richard was half sitting, half laying on the couch, guitar held across his lap in a way that was borderline sexual gave the singer an idea. 

“You’re right, I had lost interest.” The guitarist quirked a cocky eyebrow, concealing his surprise at Till’s admitted defeat, a smirk creeping across his lips. “Now I’m not attached to anyone. I can focus on whoever I want.”

The cocky-quirked eyebrow turned into one of mild confusion as the guitarist’s fingers strummed lightly across the tops of the guitar strings. Something in the pit of his stomach fluttered excitedly, provoked by something deep in the signer’s eyes. Till had always had a way of looking at people that made them feel like he was staring directly through their eyes at the back of their skulls, but there was something almost seductive and mischievous in them this time. Maybe it felt a little bit less like he was looking right through Richard because his eyes had somehow managed to trail down the front of the smaller man. 

“So you could say that I did you a favor.” 

“You could say that you did us both a favor.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“You know what I mean,” Till rolled his eyes, half of a snarl pulling at one corner of his mouth. “Don’t be a tease, I’m not stupid, I realize what’s going on here.”

“Well, you want to tell me what’s going on here so I can catch up to you then?” Richard scoffed, rolling his eyes. 

Till let out a low growl, closing the gap in the room between them with three long strides, swooping down over the couch, arms punching forcefully into the cushions on either side of the guitarist, who flinched almost as violently, the singer’s lips crashing into his in a forceful kiss. Richard’s eyes widened slightly, his heartbeat speeding up as he realized that his plan had worked. He had won the singer’s attention and now his affection.

Richard slid the guitar aside as the singer pulled at him. They crashed in the most graceless way possible to the floor, Till’s hands grabbing and pulling at him, leaving what the guitarist was sure would be a trail of finger print shaped bruises across his torso and up and down his arms. He could barely breathe, the larger man’s mouth moving forward in surges, his tongue choking the guitarist in waves before he slowly moved his mouth down cheek, jawbone, and settling on strong neck muscles before he bit down. Hard.

Richard let out a yelp, hands shooting up to Till’s arms, fingers digging into the tense muscles, pushing hesitantly, not sure he wanted the larger man to stop, but not enjoying the feeling of teeth in his neck. The singer paid no attention to any of this, his mouth moving from place to place, biting down just as mercilessly each time, his hands busied with ripping carelessly at the guitarist’s pants, pushing both them and the man’s underwear away in one swift motion, hands automatically moving to Richard’s exposed thighs to leave more trails of unpitying bruises, pulling the guitarist’s knees up to rest on either side of his ribs. One large hand moved to the fly of his own pants, unzipping it and pulling out his cock. 

“T-Till,” Richard gasped, still half pushing the larger man away, his line of sight going fuzzy as he blinked. He could feel several explosions of thumb-shaped pain all over his midriff and thighs and arms and he could almost feel each individual tooth in seven different places across his neck and upper shoulders. The singer’s hot tongue was all over his skin, tasting him. “Oh my God...”

Till shoved forward mercilessly, penetrating Richard with no thought for the guitarist’s comfort or wellbeing. Richard let out a strangled cry, eyes watering heavily as the pain took over, spreading up his back. Once again the singer ignored it, pulling back and pushing forward again just as quickly, repeating the motions rapidly, either not hearing the guitarist’s crying and begging or not caring about it. 

When the larger man finally came with a long, satisfied groan he pulled out, leaving Richard laying in a crumpled heap on the floor, limbs shaking as he blinked away more tears, teeth gritted. It took the guitarist a while to realize that it was over, the pain still radiating through him, his fingers digging into the carpet weakly. He listened as the singer re-did his belt and he could feel cold eyes staring down at him. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

The words made something clench in the pit of Richard’s stomach and a shudder ran through his spine. Something about those words now seemed more terrifying. Perhaps it was the realization of what he had actually gotten himself into as opposed to what he thought he was trying to achieve. The door opened and closed with a cold series of noises that felt more like voices whispering disapprovingly down at him, punctuated by a final clack as the door shut.  
He wasn’t sure how long he laid there, face pressed to the carpet, but he remembered each moment piercing him in a borderline physical way, his self-loathing growing more and more. 

He panicked when he heard the door open again, terrified that Till had changed his mind, returning for more. He scrambled to turn over, surprise gripping his stomach as he found his eyes meeting Paul’s. The shorter guitarist stared down in complete shock at his friend, mouth hanging open slightly. Both of them stopped breathing for several seconds until Paul darted across the room and dropped to his knees next to his friend, rambling in concern. 

“Richard, oh my God, what happened?! Are you alright?! Who did this to you?”

Richard recoiled hard as Paul reached out to help him, scrambling back into the couch he had been sitting on. It was only then that he saw several small pools of blood crusting in the carpet and the realization hit him that he must have been bleeding. Paul, not deterred by Richard’s violent flinching, moved forward again, slower this time, reaching out carefully.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he whispered, Richard scrambling to pull up his pants, covering himself. “Are you alright? What happened?”

Richard couldn’t speak, teeth clenched tightly together as if to hold in his secret. Somehow, though, even without any sort of explanation, Paul seemed to know. He reached out again, slower this time, and let his fingertips trail over his friend’s skin as if testing the waters before jumping in altogether. Initially Richard flinched, skin twitching reflexively, but even as his heart raced in his ears he felt something in him screaming out for more. 

“Come on,” Paul scooped up the little pieces, draping his friend’s arm over the back of his neck and hoisting him up slowly, Richard wincing periodically. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

Richard nodded, his response in the back of his throat as they moved slowly out of the room. The spikey haired guitarist was suddenly very grateful that his room wasn’t far down the hall. He shuddered to think about if he had chosen one of the rooms up the staircase as his own. 

Paul lowered Richard gently onto the bed, forcing him to lay flat on his stomach. 

“I need to see how bad you’re bleeding.” Richard’s stomach fell through the bed and kept plummeting. He wondered when it would stop. Then he wondered if it ever would. 

Paul must have noticed his body tensing, his eyes squeezing shut. “Is that okay? I can leave if you want me-”

“No,” he panicked, wrenching his neck to turn and meet the other guitarist’s eye. “No, please stay. I...” 

He didn’t have to finish, Paul understood, nodding briefly and hushing reassuringly, hand resting carefully on Richard’s back. Carefully he relocated, reaching to remove Richard’s pants to take a look. Once again Richard tensed almost violently, and Paul waited in silence. Slowly the lead guitarist was able to force his terrified muscles into relaxing. Heart pounding in his ears he held himself still as he felt Paul’s hands on him, much gentler than Till’s had been. 

He was so focused on relaxing that he almost didn’t feel it when the gentle touch disappeared from his skin followed by the sound of footsteps moving to leave the room. Richard blinked in surprise as he watched Paul’s back disappear out the door. 

As soon as the shorter guitarist was out of sight panic started to overwhelm him. 

You’re ruined.

You’re disgusting.

You’re dirty

Broken

No good

Useless

And no one wants you anymore. 

No one wants you now.

He was biting back pain in his throat and aching in his chest when he heard footsteps returning down the hallway. Paul walked in the door with a dampened wash cloth in his hands. Seamlessly he moved back across the room, his eyes saying none of the things that the thoughts had been whispering mere moments earlier. This time Richard didn’t tense under Paul’s touch as he cleaned away the blood. The moment those hands found him again even the echoes of the thoughts disappeared and everything went still. 

Paul murmured quietly to Richard as he worked, and though Richard couldn’t really remember anything that Paul had said that night he would always remember that it had been comforting. He would remember how much it helped.  
When he finished Paul pulled Richard’s clothes off and clumped them at the foot of the bed before pulling the covers up to cover his spiky-haired friend’s exposed skin. He crouched next to the bed for a while, not saying anything.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” Richard nodded tiredly. “Okay.” He leaned his head to the side so he was resting the side of his face on one of his arms. “Do you need anything?”

“No,” Richard’s voice came as little more than a tired whisper. He was slowly finding it harder to keep his eyes open. “Just don’t leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

And he didn't.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard experiences an especially bad night with Till. To cope with the emotional trauma he runs to Paul for comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for panic attacks and suicidal thoughts.

For the next few months Richard found himself held captive by Till, whose advances only seemed to grow more violent and more frequent. Several times Richard found himself wondering why he didn’t just leave, why he didn’t say no. At first it had been because he had thought it was what he wanted. He had tried for so long to have Till pay that much attention to him, he couldn’t bring himself to throw it all away that quickly. 

But, though he fought to tell himself that he wanted what he knew was coming on a nearly nightly basis, eventually he was forced to face the fact that he didn’t want what he had thought he wanted. It was too late at that point, though. Till had him trapped in a snare of guilt and emotional manipulation and no matter how he tried he couldn’t pull himself out. 

He tried to hide the teeth marks, the hand-shaped bruises, the sore muscles, the anti-social behavior, the way he felt constantly exhausted, but too afraid to try to sleep. When he did sleep he had nightmares about hands and teeth and feeling them all over his body. He couldn’t move or speak or scream and he just felt a ragged, evil voice slipping over his skin and walking razor blades up and down his spine, telling him that he wanted it, even if he didn’t think he did, this was what he asked for. This was what he deserved. 

In the morning he would wake up drenched in sweat, limbs shaking, often feeling more tired than he had when he went to bed. He could see in the rest of the band’s eyes every morning. He could see the comprehensive understanding and he knew that they were more than well aware of what was taking place. Their eyes burned, their pity was like acid on his skin, searing pain all the way down to the core of each individual bone. 

But there was Paul. 

Paul, perhaps the only thing that kept him going, helped him scrape himself off the floor or the wall or the bed or where ever he happened to explode that day time and time again. Each time he helped Richard piece himself back together he never wavered for a second, no matter how he found his friend. Richard watched sadness growing in the pit of his friend’s eyes, knew that it must be growing heavier every time. He hated himself for his selfishness every time, but he couldn’t help but feel terror at the idea of telling Paul to leave. 

But the nights were worse than each individual explosion, because at night, after everything was said and done with he was alone, and he would lay in bed, wishing to find a comfortable position to lie in, or sometimes wishing for death. In the darkness he had to realize how truly alone he really was, and everything started to feel that much farther away. It was getting harder to tell if he didn’t like the night or if the night didn’t like him. 

One night Till crept into Richard’s room as he prayed that that night would be untaken by yet another memory to haunt his future nights. 

He didn’t know what made Till so merciless that night, the words tumbling from his lips particularly harsh.

“No one else will take you now, I’ve broken you and no one would want you. You’re mine now and you can’t leave. You leave and you’ve got no one. You hear me? You can’t go anywhere, you’re too scared to be alone.”

All this paired with merciless touches and the way Till shoved Richard’s face into the bed so he wouldn’t have to hear the guitarist’s pathetic cries or look at his face. They paired together and, along with the singer, rode Richard until they had their fill. And then they left.

The guitarist lay sweaty and gasping, ragged sobs tearing his throat on their way out. He knew that he couldn’t be alone that night or he wouldn’t make it. As soon as he could gather up the energy he rolled out of the bed and pulled on a pair of underwear before slipping out into the hall.

He moved silently through the house, muscle memory propelling him to the door he wanted to find. As soon as he stepped in front of it he knocked holding his breath as he waited for an answer.

It wasn’t long before he heard movement as Paul woke up with a mildly alarming crash. He felt a weak smile touch his lips briefly as he listened to the other guitarist curse in a low grumble before moving towards the door.

“What the fuck-“

Paul practically choked on the rest of the sentence, inhaling violently at the sight of Richard. Richard swallowed hard, his chest aching as he tried not to meet his friend’s eye. 

Without hesitation Paul pulled him into the room, closing the door behind him. 

“What happened? Are you okay?” Questions whirred by Richard too fast for him to respond as Paul started to look him over. None of them seemed to matter much as he felt Paul’s skin come into contact with his, brushing lightly.

“Paul?” He hadn’t said his friend’s name very loudly, but he got exactly what he wanted, the questions stopping and Paul looking up at him.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think...Could I stay in here...with you tonight?”

Paul looked surprised momentarily and the look made Richard’s stomach roll. He hadn’t thought about what he would do if the answer was no. Quietly, at the back of his mind, he supposed he would just die.

The pause was barely a second, but in that second he knew that he was going to kill himself, he just knew it. Paul wouldn’t want him, wouldn’t want his dirty, broken body to contaminate his sheets. He was broken and no one wanted him but Till, and even he couldn’t bear to stay a night with the bruised guitarist. He was repulsed by himself and ready to run away at a moment’s notice, already contemplating what was the best way to end it all when Paul said no. 

“Of course.” Relief washed through him, making his muscles weak. Paul lead him over to the bed, throwing back the unkempt covers for Richard. Once he’d crawled over to the far side Paul slipped in and pulled the blankets up over both of them. “Is this okay? I can get another blanket if you need one.”

“No,” Richard shook his head, eyelids sliding closed. “This is perfect. Thank you.”

“Any time you need to you can sleep in here,” Paul murmured softly. “Okay?”

“Thank you...” Richard whispered again as he felt himself drifting off, surrounded by the gentle smell of Paul mixed with the laundry detergent. Something about it was soft and comforting and it left him feeling safe.

He slept better than he had in months. That night the nightmares left him alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard starts to wonder what life could be like if he ended the broken relationship formed between him and Till.

When Richard woke up the next morning he did it gradually. It wasn’t sudden and jerky like every other rude awakening he’d had in the past few months. It was progressive and natural, wrapped in a foggy cloud of sleep that slowly rose like a stage curtain to reveal the day that was about to begin. 

In the few minutes that he drifted in the sleepy haze he felt himself drifting through a heady aroma that he couldn’t quite place. He wasn’t awake enough to call to mind what the smell reminded him of just yet, but whatever it was relaxed him enough that he was in no hurry to reach that level of awareness. 

Once he felt the lead weights lift off his eyelids he slowly slid them open. He sat up in clouded confusion at the sight of his surroundings. What was he doing in Paul’s room, sleeping in his bed? When the pieces of the night before slowly pieced themselves together he felt a tiredness that, for once, had nothing to do with a lack of sleep creep over him. He passed a hand over his eyes, trying to wipe the thoughts away. 

A few rapid fire soft knocks on the door pulled him out of the dark pit of thoughts, his head snapping up to look at the door, much like a deer hearing a sound in a thicket. Paul carefully opened the door and slipped into the room carrying food with him. He smiled lightly as he moved across the room, sitting on the edge of the bed, holding the food out to Richard. 

“Morning,” Paul murmured, sleep still clutching his voice slightly as he smiled at his friend. “How did you sleep last night?” 

“Pretty well,” Richard yawned, relaxing noticeably at the smaller guitarist’s presence, reaching out and taking some of the food. There was a long silence as he thought about what he should say next. Paul munched happily, in complete ignorance of the small internal battle Richard was waging in his head. “Sorry about last night.”

“What about it?” The look of genuine confusion on Paul’s face nearly shattered every part of Richard into a thousand pieces and scattered them across the universe. Richard’s mouth was open as if he was going to reply, but all he could find it in himself to do was to stare at the amazing person sitting on the edge of the bed, whose look of concern grew only deeper and deeper as he floundered for words. “Um...Are you okay?”

“Whu...? Oh, yeah, no, never mind, forget it,” he turned back to the food and took another grateful bite, listening as Paul started babbling about some dream that he had had or something along those lines. 

Richard listened to the other man talk for a long time, just relishing in the way he could feel so relaxed around any one person. It was something he hadn’t been able to do in quite some time. 

When he finally left Paul’s room he crept out slowly before moving quickly to his own room to change into different clothes and to start the day. As he brushed his teeth he stared at himself in the mirror, scrutinizing several things he had been trying to ignore; the shadows under his eyes, the many marks he was trying to hide. Sighing as he spat and rinsed he found himself wishing for something that surprised him. He wanted to be done with Till.

Questions popped up like weeds, threatening to choke the idea before it could grow. What would Till do to him if he tried to end it? How would he approach the topic? What if it was the wrong choice? What if he wound up alone? What if Till was right and no one ever loved him again?

At that exact moment Paul walked into the bathroom, shooting Richard a grin as he passed behind him, looking for something in the linen closet. His words from the night before exploded to Richard’s rescue. ‘Don’t listen to Till.’  
No matter what he did for the rest of the day the thought chased him. ‘I could just end it. I could tell Till that it’s over, that I’m done.’ He wanted to talk to Paul about it, wanted to have someone to talk it through with. The more he thought about telling his friend the further into the future he thought. After it was over he could sleep again. He could have real sex again, not the terrifying proof of dominance and control Till had been claiming to be sex, real sex. Closing his eyes he remembered it. All that skin pressed together, hands exploring, heavy breaths. His favorite part was the moans of pleasure one could elicit from their partner. He could almost hear Paul’s moans-

His eyes snapped open in lurching surprise at the thought. What was he doing? Looking down he saw that tell-tale bulge in his pants, lust racing against the length of his spine. He excused himself from the room quickly, moving to the bathroom across the house from his friends. He locked the door behind him before unzipping his pants and sliding them down to the floor, quickly followed by his underwear. 

Shame washed over him as he wrapped his hand around his erection, but at no point did he want to stop himself. Slowly he moved his hand up and down his shaft, closing his eyes as he picked up a slow, deliberate pace, back pressed against the door, leaning his head back. 

On the inside of his eyelids he watched a scene play out. He pressed Paul’s naked form down on the bed, his hands tracing every edge, every line, drawing out sharp gasps and little whimpers. It wasn’t enough. He wanted more. The image of Paul begged for him, pleaded for him. So he reached down and pulled up imaginary Paul’s legs and pressed himself right up against his entrance. Again Paul begged for completion and Richard picked up his pace, jerking himself off harder. 

In the scene on the back of his eyelids, with every deep thrust Paul’s moans and cries grew more intense, each one sending another wave of electricity through Richard until his own rush of release came with a deep groan from deep in his chest. 

For a long while he remained where he was, breathing heavily, listening to his orgasm ringing in his ears. 

“Fuck.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions heighten as the band prepares to go on tour. Till takes out his nervous energy on Richard, but his advances become too brutal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for sexual violence and abuse.

Time passed after the incident in the bathroom in much the same way an off-road vehicle moves across rocky terrain; bumpy and overall uncomfortable. Richard could not, no matter how hard he tried, dismiss the idea of breaking free of Till. And wherever the idea arose the images of Paul pressed against sheets, pressing against him, pressing him against sheets, a wall, a couch, the floor echoed close behind. 

Richard had been so lost in that train of thought that he had forgotten the approaching tour. Before he knew it the band was swept up in a collective madness of preparation, a mad scramble of excited energy. It was a process that the guitarist usually enjoyed. But this particular wave of energy brought to shore some very dark waves.

For the entire week before the tour Till’s advances grew more frequent and more violent, leaving Richard in a state of nearly constant fear.

The night before the group departed Till crept into the guitarist’s room once the rest of the band had gone to bed. Richard didn’t so much hear the door open and close as he felt it like a sickness in his stomach. He lay still, hoping that maybe the singer would leave, but knowing the attempt was futile. 

“Wake up,” Till growled, roughly turning the guitarist over to look up at him. “It’s time to play.”

“Till...no, we have-“ the words didn’t matter, the singer’s mouth already going to work. Recently Till had been sticking to areas that would be hidden by clothing. The singer had discovered that in doing this he could be more ruthless because no one was going to see underneath Richard’s shirt or pants. “We have to...get up early tomorrow...”

“Shut up,” Till growled, smacking Richard across the face. “We do what I say we do, got it?”

“Till, please...”

Snarling again the singer reached up and grabbed a tight handful of the guitarist’s hair and pulled his head back hard, drawing out a strangled cry from Richard. Wrapping one massive hand around the smaller man’s throat Till squeezed and shuddered as he watched Richard’s eyes roll back, his hands struggling and grasping at the singer’s larger ones. When Till finally let go Richard coughed and sputtered, ragged sobs breaking and swelling like waves. Through the tears in his eyes Richard could see Till’s shiver of pleasure and his stomach, already lurching and churning, poured over, leaving him hacking and gagging, turning his head to the side. 

The singer made a noise of disgust, pulling back from the guitarist. Richard couldn’t quite understand the angry German growling that ensued from Till’s chest, but he could understand the relief of the larger man’s body weight lifting from his body and he did understand the sound of footsteps leaving the room and the door closing behind them. 

Richard lay there surrounded by the putrid smell of his stomach’s previous contents, vision blurring and sharpening at uneven intervals, the room spinning, leaving him feeling as if he was going to throw up again. He was so lost in his mind, trying to persuade his body not to wretch again that he didn’t hear the approaching footsteps. He flinched at the sound of knocking on his bedroom door, fear making his limbs run cold in the brief moment of silence.  
“Richard?” Paul’s voice pierced through the darkness, swiftly followed by the familiar sound of the door knob turning. The smaller guitarist entered quickly and moved towards the bed. “Richard, what’s that smell...?”

The dark haired guitarist tried to hide his mess, too ashamed to let his friend see. He wasn’t fast enough, though, and Paul rushed to him, concern already evident in his face and voice. “Do you feel sick? What happened?”

“It was nothing, I’m okay,” Richard’s voice came out harsh and rough from the pressure Till had put on his throat. Even with the cover of the scratchy layer on his voice, Paul recognized something in it, his face going blank except for a dark emotion Richard had never seen from his smaller friend burning deep in his eyes.

“It was Till, wasn’t it?” Richard looked away. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

“Paul, wait, don’t do anything,” he reached out quickly and grabbed Paul’s wrist before he could step away from the bed. “Please, please don’t do anything. Just stay with me, okay?”

Paul leaned forward, his gentle eyes meeting Richard’s. 

“I’m just going to get something to clean you up okay?” Richard stared at him skeptically. “I promise, I’m just going to get you wash cloth, I’ll be right back.” 

Before Richard had a chance to protest Paul was put the door, his footsteps echoing lightly behind him, much more musical and gentle than Till’s retreating footsteps. They came pattering back not much later, and, true to his word, Paul brought a soothingly cool washcloth, pressing it to Richard’s face, wiping him clean. Afterwards he helped his friend sit up, handing him a glass of water. Richard gulped it down, grateful for something to wash away the stale taste of vomit. 

“Let’s get you up,” Paul said, taking the empty glass away. “I’m going to put your sheets in the washer. You should go brush your teeth. You can sleep in my bed tonight.” 

Nodding in grateful silence Richard got up and did as he was told. Once he had brushed his teeth thoroughly he made his way silently through the house and slipped into his friend’s room, and then between the sheets, pressing himself close to Paul’s exposed chest. Paul held him closely and Richard fell fast asleep to the sound of his friend’s steady inhale and exhale. 

They left early the next morning, and Richard sat next to Paul the entire way there, Till glaring at him from where he sat in the plane.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard decides to put an end to Till's emotional abuse once the band returns home from tour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for physical/sexual abuse.

Richard had always loved touring. He’d always loved the rush he got from performing live, though he was certain he would never climb up quite as high as he had the first time he’d stepped up on that stage. He found that he could forget about anything while he was playing his guitar back to back with Paul, staring out over thousands of faces that he would never see again outside of blurry, warped remnants of dreams years down the line. 

And possibly the best part of being on tour was the fact that there was a constant barrage of people and interviews and meet and greets to fill the day, leaving the entire band exhausted at the end of the day. Even if there had been any privacy for Till to force Richard into his usual required activities, by the end of the day he would have been way too tired to do much of anything. 

Relaxing though it was for Richard to know he wasn’t going to be forced into anything at the end of the night, he had to admit that his favorite part was sleeping in the bunk just across from Paul’s. Every night he drifted to sleep to the sound of his friend’s soft snoring. He wished, as the date of their return home grew closer, that they could just stay on tour forever. 

Unfortunately that wasn’t a reality, and for several reasons. The return date approached more and more rapidly, despite the guitarist’s frequent attempts to mentally will time to a stop. Before he knew it the band had returned home.

For the trip back he could think about nothing other than what was surly coming at the end of the night, and by the time he finished unpacking after they got back he had come to a decision. A horrifying, dangerous decision. 

That night when Till walked into his room he was already awake, sitting at the foot of his bed, hands folded in his lap, trying to force himself to breath evenly. 

“What are you doing?” Till growled, the door closing a little loudly behind him. “How many times have I told you not to be wearing clothes when I come in here?”

Richard swallowed hard feeling as if the words would never come out. But then the impossible happened and they did. “Till, I’m not doing this anymore.”

The larger man stopped, looking up as if he didn’t believe what he had heard. “What did you say?”

“Y-you heard me,” Richard growled, shocked by the force in his voice. “I’m not going to put up with your bullshit anymore. You can go find someone else to abuse.”

“Abuse?” Till roared, his anger flaring up as suddenly as any of his other emotions did, blaring white hot. “Is that what you think has been happening? You were the one who wanted this relationship in the first place!” 

“I wanted this?” Richard roared, unsure where it was that the sudden rage and confidence had come from, but rode the wave, unable to do much else. “Who in their right mind would ever think that this was what I wanted?”

For a brief moment Till looked stunned and Richard, too red with rage to notice any of the warning sings, plowed on a head, every word feeling better than the last. He screamed and yelled, knowing damned well that he was probably waking up the house, and not caring for a second. They had never given a damn when they heard his cries for help, why would they care on that night? 

He didn’t care and it felt great. He’d been holding back the words for long enough, and they were shooting out of him like bullets. He didn’t care about any of it...until the other shoe dropped. 

Till’s patience had never been much longer than his pinky toe, and that night was no exception. He cut the guitarist off mid-sentence with the back of his hand. Richard staggered back a step or two, hand flying to his offended cheek as he blinked rapidly at his surprise. Before he could defend himself Till had shoved him down to the floor with a loud crack. Too dazed to tell, Richard could only pray that he hadn’t broken anything. 

It took the smaller man a minute to realize that the singer was screaming at him in rapid-fire phrases, his ears ringing just a little too loudly for him to pull in entire words or sentences. His ability to focus and comprehend zoomed in and out, leaving him able to focus one second, the ability to comprehend coming moments later. 

The world came crashing into needle fine clarity for Richard just in time for him to watch Till pulling a fist back, fully prepared to punish the man for stepping out of his bounds. 

With a massive, resounding roar the door crashed open and the singer went crashing to the side. For a moment Richard honestly believed that he had developed telekinetic powers, before he realized that it was Paul. The smaller guitarist was standing above him, rage in his eyes, chest heaving, fists curled into tight knots at his sides. 

Till started to rise, his rapid German speech turned to unintelligible roaring, but Paul wasn’t about to let him. He sprang into action like the most tightly wound spring when finally let loose, like something had been holding him back for too long. Richard stared in awe as Paul let punch after punch fly, inhuman growls and snarls ripping their way out of his friend’s chest. 

Just as suddenly as the beating started it stopped, Paul gripping the singer’s face in one hand, nails digging at bruised skin. 

“Now you listen to me, you insufferable prick,” the guitarist snarled. “Richard said he’s done, and that’s the end of it. If I ever catch you doing anything he doesn’t want you to again, I swear to God, I will murder you. Do you understand me?”

Till’s reply didn’t come so much in words as it did in semi-conscious moans. Paul let go and the larger man stumbled out of the room, leaving everything under a blanket of eerie stillness. 

Richard watched the back of Paul’s head, waiting for his friend to move or speak or anything. Mostly, though, he waited for the smaller man to turn into Paul again. He held his breath and prayed for the moment when he would see shoulder muscles relax and an aura that could only be described as a sunny day would surround his friend again. 

The shoulder muscles did relax, but the aura he was waiting for never quite came back. The smaller frame slumped, sinking to the bed, one hand running through his hair. 

“Paul?” Richard said quietly. The other guitarist jumped as if he had forgotten that Richard was there. He whirled around, and Richard was caught off guard by the tired eyes that met his. 

“Are you okay?” Before he knew it Paul was crouched on the floor next to him, helping him sit up. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just barged in like that-“

“No, it’s okay, thank you,” Richard cut him of, creaking up slowly. “That probably would have gone a lot worse if you hadn’t.”

“What happened?”

“I told him I’m done.” Richard felt his lips spread into a smile that, for once, wasn’t forced or tainted by the looming reality that he had just dealt with. It was a smile that Paul couldn’t help but return, hints of his usual self returning around him. “Paul, it’s over...”

“I’m so glad, Richard,” Paul pulled his friend close. He could hear emotions clogging his smaller friend’s throat as he relaxed into him. “I’m so fucking glad.”

Richard slept in Paul’s bed that night, for once, more out of desire than necessity. And it felt undeniably perfect.


End file.
